The One Rule
by Aquamarina15
Summary: Irene reflects on her relationships with Sherlock and Jim while waiting for her death. Rated T because, well, it's Irene. ;P Please R&R!


Sure, I know what he likes.

He's Sherlock Holmes. I can say that I am the one woman who beat him, and I know exactly what he liked.

He liked to show off, he liked to be right, and he didn't have any taste for me.

He thought I was...pathetic. Wrong. He knew that I misbehaved, and though he himself was cruel, he wouldn't do what I do. You would never think that Sherlock Holmes could disdain someone with the same sort of mind, the same sort of mental capacity as himself, but he disdains me.

It's easy to see.

The worst part is that I care. There are hundreds of people out to kill me, but that doesn't really matter-they can't touch me, and I have control over almost anyone. But Sherlock...he's different. No one has ever challenged me. No one has ever matched me, noticed me for something besides my power and sexiness. Everyone looks at my site and my body, but Sherlock met me. Spoke to me. And maybe that's why I find myself in love with him.

I sometimes watch John Watson stumble as he follows his friend. It's almost impossible to tell what's really going on between both of them; the complexity of friendship is too great. But it's easy to know what's going on between Sherlock and me.

He's tracing me, following me for his brother's orders and Jim's benefit. I'm just trying to knock him off the path. Even people as stupid as the police could see what's happening.

I just can't believe that I see something else. Wish something else was there. I remember sleeping in his bed and thinking about his smell and knowing that he may be the one person in the world that I can't get-and maybe that's what makes me want him so badly. That he's a challenge. I want to fight for him and I would. I would, but I won't, because Jim is against him and I'm on Jim's side.

I worry I'm not on anyone's side, that I'm completely lost in this locked-horns battle that Sherlock and Jim seem to be forever trapped in.

Maybe I don't mean anything to either of them, a toy of Jim's, an obstacle of Sherlock's. Maybe neither of them sees me as a person.

But especially Sherlock. He sees John and he sees Mycroft and he sees Lestrade or whatever the detective inspector's name is. Jim sees absolutely no one as a person. Not even Sherlock. I know what he sees when he sees Sherlock; it's like Sherlock is a mountain in a desert of sand. Sherlock is his only challenge. However, Sherlock sees him as Jim, a man confusing and intelligent, but he doesn't see me, Irene. He sees a woman. The woman, more likely. The woman who beat him. He doesn't see Irene, the intelligent, sexy woman who's been with everyone in the world and yet is endlessly lonely.

Maybe if we'd met before, it would have been different. Before he met John and was no longer lonely. I see the way he leans on John; he needs him. He needs someone and John fills that empty space. Maybe, maybe if I had met him before John, we could have filled each other.

It's silly the way I wish that had happened. How many times I imagined how it would turn out, if it did.

Sometimes I wonder if Jim could be the same. But every time I look at him, speak to him, I realize he's even worse. I realize that Sherlock has more of a heart than Jim could ever dream of having, and there lies the truth of my love for him. Because I see the humanity that no one else has. Maybe John has, by now. But I see how lonely he used to be; I see ghosts of it; I see how it mirrors my own. But there was one shudderingly electric moment in my heart when I looked at Sherlock and realized I could never fill his heart the way John does.

Now I'm not saying that John and Sherlock are in love. I just said that to annoy John (he's kind of funny when he's annoyed). I don't think they are. I think it's their friendship that makes them so powerful, that holds them together and fills the void they both harbored before they met. I've experienced every version of love you can think of and more, but friendship is something I've never had. Someone who just likes you, is there for you, listens to you, just because they want to. Not because they want you, they want your body, your heart; there's always that feeling where love is concerned, I believe. No matter how truly you love someone, the feeling of love can never be innocent but friendship is. And John and Sherlock and I...none of us are in the least innocent. That's what makes me so empty and that's what allows them to be so special to each other. That their friendship holds a refuge from the battlefield the world truly is. I have no refuge. My life is simply love, and sex, and that is why I am empty and that is why Sherlock and I could never be. The love I have for him is not innocent, and upon that realization I know that I don't want to act on it. I want my heart to cool down. I want more from him than friendship and I don't want to. I don't want to love him.

So I guess the problem is really just me. But that doesn't surprise or unsettle me at all. I've always been my greatest downfall.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. Because I didn't get what I wanted, soon I'll be murdered by somebody, and I'll never see him again. I might not even last the next hour. Some people, like Jim, love to live like that: knowing at any moment you're standing on the precipice, looking death right in the face, but I don't. I like to be safe. I do crazy things and I misbehave, but I won't unless I know I'm safe.

I didn't know that Sherlock Holmes would take away all that safety in just an instant.


End file.
